


have yourself a merry little christmas

by wafflesofdoom



Category: Emmerdale
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-26 05:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17135519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wafflesofdoom/pseuds/wafflesofdoom
Summary: robert decided to perform his very own christmas miracle and actually go home to emmerdale for christmas for the first time since he left in a blaze of glory. except, well - diane’s given his room away to chas’ stupidly gorgeous son, hasn’t she?





	have yourself a merry little christmas

**Author's Note:**

> written as part of the robron secret santa gift exchange! some ‘there’s only one bed’ silliness with a christmas twist, for emma (@letthebluerain on tumblr!)
> 
> merry merry christmas emma, i hope you have a wonderful one, and an even better 2019! (and i hope you liked this!)

It was cliché, really, but you could feel a difference in the air when you got back up North, Robert decided. There was something crisper, about the air as he stepped out of the taxi, something colder, fresher about it. **  
**

Or maybe – maybe that was the part of him who remembered Emmerdale, and Yorkshire, with a bit more fondness now he’d been gone for as long as he had. Robert had left the village at eighteen, and he hadn’t been back since, and mostly by choice.

The first year, it had been because Jack hadn’t wanted him back. Robert’s father had made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that Robert wasn’t to set foot on the farm that summer. Jack, he hadn’t been overly impressed with Robert’s choice of career (“you’re not going to make a life out of drawing them stupid pictures, Robert”) and a dramatic relationship, and breakup with Max King before Robert had left for university in a blaze of glory had been the final straw.

He could have come back when Jack had died, Robert supposed. He could have, and he nearly had, he’d made it right to the edge of the graveyard, watching the funeral from afar, watching Andy weep at his graveside, ever the devoted son, even when Robert wasn’t there. But then, well, he’d turned right around, and he’d gone right back to Reading, stumbling in the door of his university house gone midnight, his housemates plying him with beer and takeout, the only family he needed, really.

But that was then.

Robert had gotten a call from Diane, an apologetic one, he had to admit, one asking him to come home and spend Christmas with his family, just for once – after all these years.

All these years.

Sometimes, Robert didn’t realise how long it had actually been, since he’d left. Time flies, when you don’t have to live with your homophobic father who manages to hate you enough that he gets mad that you’ve actually upped and gone to university.

But that was beside the point.

The point was the air, and the air felt different, but familiar all at once – crisp, and fresh, and reminiscent of all those early mornings he’d spent out in the fields with his dad, and Andy, keeping the farm ticking over.

Robert couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at himself as he felt an almost fond tug at his heart, thinking of those summer mornings. Hindsight – hindsight was clouding his judgement, Robert decided, and making him forget why he’d gone to university over two hundred miles away in the first place.

No, he was back for Victoria, because he’d missed out on so many years with her already. It’s not as if they didn’t talk, they talked, of course – they even Skyped, once a week, every two weeks, depending on how busy they both were, and Robert sent her postcards and trinkets from every place he visited, Victoria delighted with her mini-map of Robert’s Erasmus she’d gotten by the end of that semester, getting postcards, and bracelets, and German sweets as often as Robert’s money would allow it.

But he hadn’t seen her, not in person, not since the morning he’d left, a black eye blooming where Jack had smacked him one, upon finding Max in Robert’s bed (he’d gotten reckless, and angry, and he was eighteen years old with a point to prove, alright?) and a suitcase in hand, determined to never ever come back again.

He almost hadn’t come back this time.

Robert had told Diane no, that he was going to be spending Christmas with friends, as he had done the last two years, his overly kind best mate from halls in first year making a point of bringing Robert back to the perfectly non-descript suburb that he’d grown up in, an hour outside London, anonymous, and simple, and everything Robert had craved as a teenager.

Emmerdale had always been suffocating, the kind of place where everyone knew your name, and every other tiny detail of your life. The kind of place where rumours had flown for months around school, after Robert had been seen with a hand down a mystery boys trousers, the kind of place where everyone felt like they were entitled to an opinion on Robert’s life, on who he shagged, on where he worked.

Jack never had to deal with that, living in a two up, two down, terraced house, where every house looked the same, where no-one made the effort to talk to each other, not more than a simple hello anyway.

Robert could feel his skin start to crawl, as he looked around the village, remembering all the reasons he left all at the same time.

It wasn’t too late to run, he supposed.

It wouldn’t take an outrageously long time for the taxi to come back, and he could catch the last train down to London. Jack was so stupidly nice he’d probably drive in and collect Robert from the station, and before Christmas Eve was over, he could be sitting with a mulled wine in hand, chatting to Jack’s grandmother, the elderly lady telling him all sorts of stories about the life she used to have in central London, a life that sounded far more exciting than her neat cardigans and fluffy socks would imply.

He could definitely run.

Robert wanted to run.

“Robert?”

And now he definitely couldn’t run.

Giving his little sister a weak smile, Robert held out his arms for a hug. “Surprise?” he offered by way of explanation, Victoria’s face an absolute picture as she realised that her brother was actually home. He didn’t have that ‘wow, look at how grown up my sister is’ moment, because – well, this wasn’t the stone age, was it? He had Facebook, and Instagram, and Victoria was always happy to update on her life every ten minutes.

She looked like she did on Instagram stories. But – well, a part of him couldn’t help but metaphorically well up, thinking of all the silly, day-to-day things he’d missed out on because he’d stayed away for so long.

“Diane said you weren’t coming!” Victoria explained, wrapping her arms around Robert’s waist, hugging him tightly.

“I wasn’t,” Robert admitted, hugging her back. “But I figured it was about time I came back, built a few bridges.”

“Yeah?” Victoria looked honest to god hopeful as she looked up at him, as though this was the magical beginning of the end for the great Sugden family feud.

“Yeah,” the confirmation tasted acrid on his tongue as he spoke, trying his best not to vomit at the prospect of making nice with his idiot older brother.

Sometimes, Robert would think he’d rather die than ever play nice with Andy.

“Come on, come inside!” Victoria tugged at his sleeve, gesturing for him to come inside the pub with her.

Right.

Robert forget they’d had to sell the farm, that they lived in the pub now – Diane’s name above the door, Emmerdale farm in someone else’s name, and Jack presumably turning in his grave, realising that Andy and his sprogs weren’t going to farm his precious land anymore.

(Good.)

“Diane will be so happy to see you,” Victoria chatted, Robert’s suitcase clacking over the uneven concrete as they headed inside. “God, Robert, it’s so good to see you, I can’t believe you’re home! I’ve got so much to tell you.”

Robert let Victoria natter on as he followed her inside the pub, the Woolpack looking the exact same as it had done all those years ago, for Robert’s disastrous leaving party, down to the scratchy carpets, and the mahogany coloured bar top.

A bar top his estranged step-mother was standing behind.

“Robert Jacob Sugden,” Diane didn’t sound entirely as though she was scolding him, but it definitely wasn’t all excitement. “What are you doing here?”

“I decided it was about time I came home for Christmas,” Robert said, trying his best to crack a joke.

Diane moved around from behind the bar, giving him an affectionate smile. “It’s good to see you, Robert,” she said, scooping him into a hug. She smelled the exact same as she always did, overwhelmingly of the perfume that had been a strange addition to the bathroom shelf after she’d moved into Emmerdale Farm.

“You too, Diane,” Robert said. “What do I have to do to get a pint around here, then?”

“Pay for it, I imagine.”

Ah, the dulcet tones of Andy Sugden.

That was on the list of things Robert definitely hadn’t missed about Emmerdale. Andy was slouched at the bar, looking incredibly sorry for himself, considering it was Christmas Eve.

“Andy,” Robert didn’t even try to hide his grimace. “Nice to see you again.”

“You short of money or something?” Andy said, his words slurring enough that Robert could catch on that he was drunk.

“Andy!” Diane shot him an incredulous look.

“There’s no other reason for the prodigal son to be returning home,” Andy shrugged, swishing the dregs of his pint around.

“Actually, I probably make more money than you do, shovelling cow shit,” Robert snarked back.

Eh, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and he wasn’t going to start being nice to Andy in one either.

“Stop it, the both of you,” Diane fixed them both with a stern look, a hand on Robert’s back. “Come around to the backroom, I’ll get Marlon to fix you something to eat, you must be starving.”

Now that she mentioned it, Robert couldn’t deny that he was absolutely starving. Like, embarrassing stomach grumbling kind of starving.

“Food sounds good,” Robert said, following Diane behind the bar, leaving a mopey Andy behind. “How have things been here, then?”

“They’ve been good,” Diane said, bustling around the kitchen, plating up something that looked a lot like the stew he used to feed the old sheepdog up at Emmerdale farm, thick and gloopy and incredibly unappealing.

“Andy looks terrible,” Robert commented, sitting down at the kitchen table. He’d never been in the backroom of the pub, if he was being honest,. The Dingles owned it on their own, last time Robert had lived in the village, and he’d hardly gotten on too well with them, so he’d never exactly been invited around for cosy dinners.

“Him and Katie are fighting,” Victoria said, almost in a stage whisper, settling herself down next to Robert.

“That’s hardly anything new,” Robert rolled his eyes. Andy and Katie always did fancy themselves as an epic love story, but they fought like cats and dogs most of the time.

“It’s serious this time,” Victoria said, by way of explanation.

“Victoria,” Diane fixed her with a serious look. “I think that’s a conversation best kept between two brothers, don’t you?”

“Yes, because me and Andy love to have deep and meaningful conversations about our love lives, Diane.”

Diane pinched his cheek, setting the food down in front of him. “It’s good to see your attitude hasn’t changed one bit, Robert,” she said, sitting down next to him. “I do wish you’d told me you were coming home, though.”

“I thought I’d surprise you!” Robert said defensively. “Do the dramatic movie style return, and all that.”

“You did always love to make a scene,” a familiar voice drawled, Robert turning to look at whoever it was.

Chas Dingle.

Now, she was never one of the villagers who’d had much time for Robert - to be entirely fair, not many of them had - but he’d always sort of liked her, if only for the time she banned Jack from the pub for annoying her too much.

“Someone has to bring a bit of drama to this place,” Robert responded.

“The problem is,” Diane continued. “Well, we didn’t think you were coming home, so - well, Chas’ son is here, he’s sleeping in the spare room, so there’s not really anywhere for you to stay. Andy is kipping on the couch, right now.”

Great.

Robert had come the entire way home for Christmas, and there wasn’t even a patch of floor for him to sleep on.

“Wait - you have a son?” Robert raised an eyebrow, looking at Chas.

“None of your business,” Chas responded, busying herself making a cup of tea.

Ah.

That was more standard Chas.

“Aaron, he’s lovely,” Victoria said. “He used to live in Paris, you know - he has a very exotic life.”

“Paris is hardly exotic!” Robert scoffed, pushing the gluey stew around his place, already wondering if he could order himself a takeaway to the pub without Diane - or Marlon, for that matter - knowing.

“It’s more exotic than Reading,” Victoria said pointedly, the door opening, and closing in the background, an unfamiliar face entering the room.

Aaron, Robert assumed.

He was - well, Robert had two working eyes, and he wasn’t stupid, he could see Aaron was gorgeous. He had a mop of dark hair, pushed back off his forehead, the sides shaved in close in a way he was surprised he found so attractive. He had a scruffy pair of black jeans on, a jumper that was two sizes too big hanging down over his wrists, his shoulders slumped in a way that made him look completely unapproachable.

“Robert, this is Aaron - Aaron, this is my step-son, Robert.”

Step-son.

That was an intentional distinction, wasn’t it?

Aaron fixed him with an intense look. “Hi,” he said shortly. “Mam, is there anything about to eat?”

“Hi Aaron, nice to see you too Aaron, did you have a nice day? I had a very stressful day, because you didn’t turn up for your shift in the pub,” Chas snarked at her son, shoveling out a plate of the horrid stew as she spoke.

“I told you, summat came up,” Aaron shrugged, slumping down at the table.

“Me letting you move in wasn’t supposed to be you getting to freeload off me, and not pay rent,” Chas looked annoyed, slamming the plate down in front of Aaron. “Honestly, Aaron, you’re not a kid anymore.”

Aaron pulled a face. “Take the stick out.”

Chas slapped him across the back of the head. “Get some manners,” she retorted, a sudden grin on her face. “Diane, I think I have the solution to our overcrowding problem. Seeing as we’ve got two little boys staying with us, they can just share.”

Robert raised an eyebrow. “Comedy isn’t your strong point, Chas.”

“Oh, I am entirely serious,” Chas said, giving him an overly sweet smile. “You’re only here for a few days, Robert, and my son technically isn’t paying rent to live here, so you can share his room. It’ll be fun, you can have a Christmas sleepover.”

“Mum, I’m nineteen, I’m not sharing my room like - like some kid.”

“I’m twenty two!” Robert retorted. “I’m definitely not sharing a bed. I’ll go and see if Val has a spare room or something.”

“She doesn’t, love, I checked this morning,” Diane gave him an apologetic look. “Chas is right, it’s only for a few days - it’ll be fine, I’m sure you two will get on swimmingly!”

Swimmingly.

Twenty two years old, and six months from graduating with a first class honours degree, and Robert was spending his Christmas sharing a bed with a Dingle.

Sighing as he watched the clock tick over, the possibility of him getting the last train out of Emmerdale, and back down South, disappeared.

Merry bloody Christmas indeed.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“I sleep on the left.”

Robert looked up as Aaron spoke, finally breaking his solid hour of silence. “I sleep on the right,” he replied. “Perfect match, eh?”

“You’re not my type.”

“You’re not mine either!” Robert retorted, more than slightly offended that this kid wasn’t in to him.

Everyone was into Robert Sugden.

“Don’t get so offended,” Aaron smirked, crossing his arms across his chest. “It’s not you, it’s me. No, wait - it’s definitely you. Does the poncy haircut and the weird clothes actually do it for girls?”

“And guys,” Robert grinned, popping open the button of his trousers.

“We do have a bathroom you could change in,” Aaron said pointedly, a look on his face Robert couldn’t quite figure out as he watched, Robert pushing his trousers down over his hips, glad he’d worn the Calvin Klein boxers he’d treated himself to recently.

Robert knew he was good-looking, and well - he sort of had a point to prove with this Aaron, he decided.

“Sure, but if I’m not your type, you’re not going to mind if I get my kit off in here, are you?” Robert said, shrugging slightly as he toed off his socks, adding them to the growing pile of clothes on Aaron’s bedroom floor.

Aaron rolled his eyes in response, and grabbed a set of pyjamas from the chest of drawers in front of him, stomping out of the room, and presumably toward bathroom.

Robert folded the clothes he’d just taken off, unzipping his suitcase to try and at least pretend as though he didn’t have to live out of it for the next few days, Aaron’s room lacking in storage to the point where Robert assumed if he asked for a hanger so that his shirts didn’t need ironing every time he wanted to put one on, he’d probably be shanked.

Clothes away, he decided to take a look around Aaron’s room, curious.

The younger man couldn’t have been living in the Woolpack for very long, or else - or else, well, he didn’t have much of a personality, the room devoid of photographs, or posters. It felt different to the room Robert called his home in Reading, a pinboard over his desk full of photos of the holidays he’d been on with friends from university, photos from his year abroad.

Sometimes - well, sometimes, Robert wondered what his life would have been like if he hadn’t left Emmerdale, if he hadn’t come out to his father, and basically gotten the boot. If he’d internalised it all, like he’d been so determined to once upon a time, he’d probably have ended up staying in the village, spending his life trying to prove to his father that he was the better Sugden brother.

Robert shuddered, at the thought.

“You having a nose?”

“Yup,” Robert said childishly. “You into minimalism, or something?”

“You into not wearing clothes?”

“Why, did your mum buy me a matching set of pyjamas too?” Robert questioned, eyes running over the plaid pyjamas Aaron was wearing. They looked comfortable, to be entirely fair, but Robert half expected there to be four or five matching sets under the tree in the morning, so they could do the proper cheesy family Christmas.

Aaron rolled his eyes. “No need to be jealous, mam was saying you used to have a crush on her.”

“Lies,” Robert scoffed. “I did that so my dad wouldn’t find out I was shagging Max King.”

Aaron snorted, a look of complete disbelief on his face. “You what? Jimmy King’s brother?”

Robert couldn’t help but feel slightly proud of himself, pulling back the right side of the covers. “Carl wasn’t happy about it,” he admitted, thinking of the shouting match he’d had with the King brothers about how he was corrupting Max.

Aaron laughed, the expression lighting up his face in a way that made him look entirely different to how he had done the past few hours, melting away the annoyance and anger. “Max King,” he repeated the name. “I never would have guessed that, you know - he’s been with his girlfriend for as long as I’ve been here.”

“I broke his heart,” Robert said cheekily, getting into bed. “Moved all the way to Reading - I’m sure he’s not even over me, yet.”

Aaron raised an eyebrow, getting into bed beside Robert. “I’m sure,” he drawled, clearly unimpressed again.

Robert gave him an overly cheerful grin, tugging the covers up to his chin, ripping them away from Aaron’s body. “Try keep your hands to yourself tonight now!”

Robert couldn’t see Aaron’s face as he replied, the younger man turning off the lights, but his words were crystal clear in the dark of the room. “Get fucked.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert woke up alone, which was a weird thing to feel weird about, but he’d kind of expected Aaron to be the type who lazed in bed for hours, and he was kind of hoping to have the opportunity to annoy him a bit more, but he did wake up alone, the duvet pooled around his waist, and the sound of life drifting up the stairs, someone clearly up and cooking breakfast.

Stifling a yawn, Robert swung his legs out of bed, rooting for some clean clothes, donning a jumper and jeans - he’d convince Diane to do some ironing for him later, he decided, running a hand through his sleep ruffled hair, too lazy to do much other than push it back off his face.

He was at the bottom of the stairs when the door opened, a sweaty Aaron tumbling through the door, head to toe in running gear. He was panting, heavily, having not even noticed Robert’s presence as he toed off his shoes, music still blaring in his ears.

Holy -

Aaron was fucking hot. Like, sell your mum for half a chance kind of hot, Robert thought to himself, watching a bead of sweat roll down Aaron’s neck, his hair soaking wet and clung to his head.

Jesus.

“Morning,” Robert decided not to be totally gormless, realising that Aaron was going turn around eventually, and he would end up looking spectacularly stupid, standing on the bottom step of  the stairs and staring like he’d never seen a guy post workout before.

(That would have been a lie. There was two reasons Robert was a regular at the university gym - one, every single one of the trainers was ridiculously hot, and that was the sole reason he forced himself through an hour of kettlebells every Thursday morning, and two, the rugby team looking all sweaty post their weights session.)

“Morning,” Aaron replied, not offering anything else before he pushed past Robert on the stairs, clearly headed for the shower.

Shaking his head, Robert tried to put the thought of deliciously sweaty abs out of his head, heading into the kitchen. Andy was slumped at the kitchen table, clearly hungover within an inch of his life, and looking incredibly sorry for himself, Victoria plating up what looked like an epic fry up.

Who needed the gym, really?

“Morning!” Robert greeted brightly, about thirty times louder than he needed to be, enjoying the wince on Andy’s face as the noise cut through his hangover. “This smells great, Vic - I’ve not had a proper fry up in ages.”

“I did it mums way,” Victoria smiled softly.

Mums way. The plate did look familiar as Robert looked down, remembering better Sunday mornings of days long gone. He couldn’t help the wave of sadness that washed over him as he realised Victoria probably didn’t remember those Sunday, and it was more likely that Andy had sat with her, listing every ingredient their mum used to put in a fry up.

Maybe Andy wasn’t so useless after all.

“How is life at university?” Victoria asked, excited, as she set a plate down in front of Robert, and another in front of Andy. “I’m thinking of going to cookery school next year, you know - I wasn’t sure what to do after school, so I’ve just been working, but I really love to cook!”

“You should,” Robert nodded. “Could own your own place one day, if you stick with it.”

“I always tell her that,” Andy spoke, voice gravelly and tired. “Proper chef, our Vic.”

Victoria flushed with pride, smiling widely as she sat down. “But seriously, how about you Robert - are you coming back to Yorkshire, when you’re done with university?”

Back to Yorkshire.

That - that was an idea, wasn’t it? A bad one, but an idea all the same.

“I’m uh - no,” Robert shook his head, pushing his beans around his plate. “I’m going to do a masters, actually. I’ve applied to do one in Amsterdam.”

“A masters?” Andy raised an eyebrow. “What’s the use in that?”

“I like studying?” Robert replied. “I know you’ve not read a book since you scraped by your GCSES, but some of us surprisingly like it.”

“Robert, don’t fight,” Victoria sighed, sounding as long suffering as Diane did when the two of them started at it.

“It’s good to know Jack is never gone when you’re around, eh Andy?” Robert rolled his eyes, pushing his chair back.

“You could just call him dad, you know, seeing as that was what he was,” Andy snarked back, anger clearly the cure for his hangover.

Robert scoffed. “Yeah, great dad he was, wasn’t he?” he couldn’t push down the anger. “Kicked his son out because he liked boys, told me he never wanted me to set foot on the farm again. A+ parenting, that. Tell me, Andy, is that how you’re going to raise Sarah and Jack? Seeing as you’re so determined to be exactly like him?”

“Robert, seriously, please -”

Andy stood up, squaring up to Robert.

“It might help if you were actually a Sugden,” Robert said, knowing the words would hit exactly where he wanted them to.

He just hadn’t been expecting Andy to respond by throwing a punch.

And well - Robert wasn’t just going to stand there and take it, was he?

“Robert, Andy, stop - stop it! Diane! Chas!”

Robert didn’t really expect to get yanked away from Andy, strong arms around his waist as some dragged him away, Diane rushing into the kitchen, looking positively furious, putting a hand on Andy’s chest in an attempt to keep him away from Robert.

“Robert, you haven’t been back a day yet!” Diane said, giving him an exasperated look. “What could you two possibly be fighting about now?”

“He was slagging dad off!” Andy practically roared, looking furious.

“Well, he’s dead Andy, so I don’t think he’s going to be too offended, do you?” Robert snarked back, Andy managing to shove past Diane, punching Robert square in the face.

“Aaron -”

Ah, that was who was holding him by the way.

“Can you take Robert upstairs, sort that lip out?” Diane asked, Robert realising then that his lip was pouring blood, Andy - comically - looking as if his head was about to pop off.

“C’mon,” Aaron pushed Robert in the small of his back, trying to urge Robert toward the door.

One fight was enough for the day, Robert decided, allowing himself to be guided toward the door, and up the stairs.

“You and Andy are close then,” Aaron joked, rooting in the cupboards for the first aid kit, Robert settling himself down on the closed lid of the toilet.

“Mm, best friends, me and him,” Robert replied, wincing as Aaron dabbed at his split lip.

“It shows,” Aaron snorted, hands surprisingly gentle against Robert’s face as he mopped up the worst of the blood. “Did your dad really do that?” he asked, voice quiet.

Robert swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”

“You don’t - you don’t have to talk about it.”

Robert gave a miniscule shrug. “It was a long time ago,” he said. “I got with Max, when we were in sixth form. It’s not - he wasn’t my first, or anything, but it was the first time I really wanted to be with someone. Properly, like. So I decided I’d come out to my dad, and Diane. Diane was good about it, you know - she was supportive. My dad kicked me out.”

“Because you liked fellas?” Aaron shook his head, looking disgusted. “Prick.”

“Yeah, he was,” Robert sighed. “But you’re not allowed badmouth the great Jack Sugden in front of Andy, because Andy thinks my dad was the greatest man who ever walked the Earth. Honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a bloody shrine to Jack in his house.”

“Caravan.”

“Hm?”

“Andy lives in a caravan, on one of the spare fields up at Butlers Farm,” Aaron explained. “Until Katie kicked him out, that is.”  
  
“Does it make me a bad person to feel really happy about the fact that Andy got kicked out of a caravan by someone he’s already married, divorced and gotten engaged to again?”

“Maybe,” Aaron shrugged. “But he did just give you a split lip two days before Christmas.”

Robert let out a dramatic sigh. “There goes my modelling career.”

Aaron grinned, snapping the clasps of the first aid kit closed. “You’ve not got the face for it anyway,” he gave him a pitiful look, patting Robert’s already ridiculous hair. “Stick with being a boffin.”

“You’re a twat.”

“And you kick in your sleep. Like, really badly,” Aaron said, emphasis on the badly. “I’m going to be in bits by time Christmas comes over.”

Robert sort of forgot he did that, sometimes. “Sorry,” he winced. “Meet me in the pub, later - I’ll shout you a pint and some grub to make up for it.”

Aaron gave him a tiny smile. “Okay. 5?”

“5 it is,” Robert confirmed, watching as Aaron left the bathroom, his nursing duties for the morning done.

He couldn’t quite quell his giddy excitement as he realised Aaron had actually agreed. He didn’t know much about him, sure - but he was good looking, and he didn’t seem to have much time for Andy, and that ticked most of Robert’s boxes to begin with.

Maybe Christmas in Emmerdale wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert hadn’t intended to be late - really, he hadn’t. He’d gone into Leeds to do some last minute Christmas shopping, realising pretty quickly he had some making up to do with Victoria after his and Andy’s little showdown that morning, and he’d gotten stuck in all the mental Christmas traffic, meaning it was well gone five by time he got to the Woolpack, spotting Aaron sitting in one of the corner booths.

“Sorry,” he apologised, sliding into the booth across from Aaron. “I forgot how mad Christmas traffic is, I normally do all my shopping online.”

Aaron shrugged. “You owe me two pints now - and I was hungry, so I ordered two burgers.”

“I’d eat anything right now,” Robert admitted, shrugging off his jacket. If he’d gotten changed since that morning, it was only because he had blood on his jumper, and it wasn’t because he was meeting Aaron for dinner.

Not at all.

“Vic was saying you live in Reading, now,” Aaron commented, nudging a pint toward Robert.

Robert gave him a grateful smile, taking a swig of it before he replied. “Yeah, I go to university there,” he said. “I do graphic design.”

“Like drawing and all that?”

Robert nodded. “We do it all digitally,” he explained. “I used to love drawing silly cartoons, in school, so I figured I’d make a career out of it.”

“You any good?” Aaron asked, a cheeky grin fixed in place on face.

“You can decide for yourself,” Robert said, pulling his phone out of his pocket and bringing up instagram, the page he’d had to make back in September as part of his final year portofolio coming up. He passed it over to Aaron, waiting half anxiously for his reaction.

“They’re alright,” Aaron said, the concentration on his face as he scrolled through the photos.

Robert rolled his eyes. “Alright, don’t be too nice.”

Aaron grinned, the foam of his pint getting stuck in his beard. “I wouldn’t want you to get a big head.”

(Funnily enough though, when Robert looked at his phone later that evening, he had a new follower - aarondingle18, an brand new account with a grand total of two followers, Vic and her gormless friend Adam, a photo of Aaron on holiday the profile picture, sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, and a grin fixed in place.)

(Only alright? Likely story.)

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert imagined that this was what Armistice Day felt like. Him and Andy were standing in the middle of the pub, Victoria, Aaron, Adam, and the rest of the Bartons settled at a table, waiting to see if World War Three was going to kick off.

“Sorry for punching you,” Andy said, not looking the slightest bit sorry at all.

“Sorry for saying you had a lopsided head.”

Andy raised an eyebrow. “You never said that.”

“I did now though,” Robert said. “I couldn’t help but notice it. Have you seen a doctor about it? It might be why you’ve always been such a twat.”

“Diane, I swear to god, I’m going to clatter him -”

“Robert Jacob Sugden, I will bar you from the only pub this village has if you don’t apologise to your brother. It’s Christmas Eve!” Diane gave them both a long suffering look, Chas sniggering to herself behind the bar.

Robert swore he could hear her mutter something about how Robert wasn’t wrong.

“Okay, okay,” Robert held his hands up in surrender. “God, when did you become Emmerdale’s answer to Rocky Balboa?”

“Robert.”

“I’m sorry,” Robert said. “Can we sit down and have a pint now?”

“I’ll bring a round over,” Diane said, looking incredibly pleased with Robert’s half hearted apology.

“You two are worse than me and Pete,” Ross snorted as they sat down.

“Because we were the original feuding brothers, and we did it better,” Robert said, rolling his eyes.

“Exactly,” Andy agreed.

“Are you really not fighting for once, just so you can say you’re better at hating each other than Pete and Ross are?” Victoria raised an eyebrow.

“Yes,” Robert and Andy replied in unison, Aaron in stitches next to Robert as they spoke.

“I’m so glad I’ve just got a sister,” Aaron said.

“You’re better off,” Victoria rolled her eyes. “I’m telling you Aaron, every time the two of them are in a room together, I age about ten years.”

“We’re not that bad!” Robert protested. “It’s friendly banter.”

“There is nothing more friendly than a split lip,” Aaron hummed, sticking his tongue out at Robert.

“We could ask Andy to give you a matching one, if you’d like?”

“Can you leave me out of your flirting?” Andy said weakly, nursing the pint Diane had put in front of him.

Robert winked at Aaron. “If I was flirting, you’d know it.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert was drunk. He wasn’t like, rip-roaring, vomit over your own shoes kind of drunk, but he was definitely a bit drunk. Happy drunk, he decided, pressed knee to knee with Aaron, Adam and Andy at the bar, having some sort of deep and meaningful conversation, Victoria and Matty huddled at a table of their own.

“What’s going on there?” Robert inquired.

“If I tell you, are you going to go psycho big brother like Andy?”

Robert shook his head. “She’s not a kid anymore, is she? I want her to be happy.”

“Adam was telling me she had a boyfriend last year, Ellis - great guy, apparently, but he got offered a great job in Manchester, and the long-distance didn’t work out,” Aaron explained. “Matty’s been in love with her since school, apparently.”

“That’s sweet,” Robert said, sincere. “You seeing anyone?”

Aaron shook his head. “I had a boyfriend, in Paris,” he admitted. “But I left him, a couple of months back. It’s why I’m here, trying to sort myself out again.”

“You miss him?”

Aaron looked at him, blue eyes sincere, and captivating, keeping Robert’s usually hazy drunk focus. “No,” he said, decisive. “Not even a little bit.”

A comfortable silence fell between them for a few minutes, until Aaron piped up again.

“You seeing anyone?”

Robert shook his head. “I mean - I’ve dated people, but there’s not been anything serious for a long time,” he admitted. “I guess I got so focused on university, and making sure I never had to end up here again, I sort of forgot to.”

“It’s not so bad here,” Aaron hummed.

“Maybe for you,” Robert said, glancing around the pub. “But it just reminds me of my - Jack. And I don’t want to spend the rest of my life living somewhere where I feel like I have to live up to a dead man’s expectations of me.”

Aaron gave him a sympathetic smile. “Did he not want you to go to uni?”

Robert shook his head. “He didn’t think I could make anything of myself, drawing those stupid little cartoons,” he said, pulling a face. “Twat.”

“He sounds it,” Aaron agreed. “So our bed-sharing is time limited then?” he joked.

“I can give you an extra long cuddle tonight to make up for it,” Robert grinned, wrapping his arms around a squirming Aaron. “I know you secretly love it.”

“I’m going to tie your legs together tonight, I swear to god!” Aaron said, suddenly letting out a snort of laughter, realisation dawning on Robert.

“Are you ticklish Aaron Dingle?” he smirked, Aaron’s eyes widening.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, I dare,” Robert said, waggling his fingers at Aaron, the younger man honest to God clambering over the back of the booth in an attempt to escape.

“I will kill you,” he warned, backing away from Robert’s wandering fingers.

“Worth it,” Robert grinned, getting out of his own chair, legging it after Aaron as he ran behind the bar, into the backroom.

“You’re a pair of children!” Chas called after them, Robert not even bothering to respond as he managed to corner Aaron, fingers ghosting over every ticklish part of Aaron’s body, his ribs the worst part, apparently, Aaron collapsing into uncontrollable laughter, head lolling against the wall.

“S-stop Robert, I swear, I will smack you!”

“You’d never,” Robert grinned, easing up on his tickling all the same, the two of the pressed closely together, close enough that Robert could feel Aaron’s breath heaving out of his chest, Aaron trying to regain his composure.

Robert - well, he’d never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life.

So he did.

Aaron melted in his arms as they kissed, his grip on Robert’s waist impossibly tight. “Upstairs,” he panted against Robert’s mouth. “ ** _Now_**.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

“For what it’s worth,” Aaron murmured, cheek pressed into the space between Robert’s shoulder and neck, breath hot against Robert’s bare skin. “I like your silly cartoons. You’re really talented, Robert.”

Robert couldn’t help the flush that rose in his cheeks at Aaron’s compliment, his arms wrapped tightly around the younger man as he drifted off, hair sex messy and familiar under Robert’s fingertips now, the duvet tugged up around the two of them.

It was a bit bloody cliche, he realised that much.

But cliche wasn’t so bad, Robert decided.

He had a bit of a lightbulb moment as Aaron started to snore softly, gently untangling himself from Aaron, grabbing the pyjama bottoms Aaron had kicked to the floor that morning, the legs coming up a little short on Robert as he grabbed his laptop, tiptoeing out of the room.

If Christmas wasn’t the time to be a bit romantic, when was?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Robert felt like his eyes were glued together as he was woken up by a scratch of beard against his cheek, Aaron kissing him awake. “Morning,” he said, his voice tired even to his own ears. He’d stayed up until nearly four, the previous night, working on a present for Aaron.

“Morning,” Aaron replied, a soft smile on his face - one Robert hadn’t seen until last night, and one he could happily see a whole lot more. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” Robert replied. “Do we have to get up?”

“Probably,” Aaron hummed, stretching his arms above his head, fingertips grazing the headboard. “I don’t want to, though.”

“Me neither,” Robert said, waiting with bated breath for Aaron to notice the little card on his bedside locker.

“What’s this, then?” Aaron gave him a curious look, reaching for the paper, a wide smile spreading across his face as he read what was written on it.

Robert was mostly just glad it looked as good in daylight as it had done at four am, two little cartoon versions of them glancing up from the paper where they were sitting on an absurdly tiny bed, Robert’s cartoon self complete with an exaggerated split lip.

“There’s a bed in Reading worth sharing if you ever fancy it,” Aaron said aloud, grinning as he did so.

“Too much?”

Aaron shrugged. “It’s Christmas,” he said, leaning in and kissing Robert again, the tug of his beard against Robert’s still healing split lip making him wince. “Sorry,” he murmured, a gentle hand on Robert’s cheek.

“If you think I care, I’ve got a point to prove before we get up,” Robert said, taking the card from Aaron and flinging it over his shoulder, moving so he was straddling Aaron, pinning his hands over his head.

Aaron smirked. “Prove it, then.”

 

 

 

 

(Merry Christmas, indeed.)


End file.
